The Works of John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave, Marquis of Normanby, and Duke of Buckingham

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J.B. [i.e. John Barber] and sold, 1729 - Всего страниц: 400

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Стр. 295 - tis his will : Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue.
Стр. 295 - Caesar lov'd you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad. 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; For, if you should, O, what would come of it!
Стр. 231 - Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar.
Стр. 231 - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Стр. 229 - We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he...
Стр. 297 - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii: Look, in this place ran Cassius...
Стр. 91 - Rude force might fome unwilling kifles gain ; But that was all he ever could obtain. You on fuch terms would ne'er have let me go ; Were he like you, we had not parted fo.
Стр. 229 - I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.
Стр. 97 - Love secretly: the absence of my lord More freedom gives, but does not all afford: Long is his journey, long will be his stay; Call'd by affairs of consequence away.
Стр. 297 - O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here ! Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

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